


Heat

by SomewhereApart



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Missing Year (Once Upon a Time)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 12:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13457973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhereApart/pseuds/SomewhereApart
Summary: When summer settles over the Enchanted Forest, it brings with it an oppressive heat wave, and Regina's attempt to keep cool draws attention – some unwanted, some charming.





	Heat

When summer settles over the Enchanted Forest, scorching and oppressive, Regina finds herself missing Maine for the first time. Not Henry, whom she misses every minute of every day, but Maine, with its central air conditioning and it’s automatic icemakers, and its ocean breeze. She misses long sunny days at the beach with her son, misses waves and salt water, misses thin cotton dresses that are comfortable but still mature and classy. Misses her hair cropped short, off her neck.

This area of the Enchanted Forest has a few rushing rivers, some piddly streams, a fair number of small ponds skimmed over with algae, and three sizable lakes. No sand, no ocean breeze.

 

The castle is not centrally cooled, that goes without saying. The kitchens are sweltering, the upper halls with their large paneless windows and sweeping open balconies far too exposed to the elements to keep the heat at bay. They’ve fitted some of the windows with shutters, but it has helped only marginally, and the darkened halls are still humid and close. The lower floors, the internal rooms especially, are more tolerable - which means that all the castle’s residents are there, milling about, commiserating. Regina wants nothing to do with any of them, and so she’s up in her chambers. With her sweeping, open balcony, and the heat.

Today, it is sweltering. She’s just finished bathing off the sweat of a nearly-sleepless night, and her skin is already sporting a fresh sheen as she stands in her dressing chamber in the nude. She is trying to find something to wear that will not be heavy and hot, but she’s faced with an array of leather, and velvet, and silk. For a fleeting second, she thinks that maybe she should just sequester herself here, stay just like this for the rest of the day. It sounds a good deal better than the rest of her options.

But it’s already nearly noon, and she’s getting hungry, and she can’t very well walk into the dining hall in her birthday suit. She also can’t bear the thought of corsets or leather pants or heavy coats. She wants something light, something airy, something…

The thought comes to her with a grimace, and she shoves her way past dress after dress, until she gets to a chest wedged into the very back corner. She yanks the top open with a creak, and there they are. Dresses she hasn’t worn since she was young. Since she was Leopold’s. Thin fabric, sheer flowing sleeves. White, and silver, and pure. But there’s one… she rummages through them, dress after dress tumbling to the floor around her knees, and then she finds the one she’s looking for and yanks it out with a sigh. Blue. Not quite dark, but by no means pastel, with gold and silver embroidery along the hems, over the chest. It’s a bit… virginal for her tastes, but it will be comfortable, so she’ll make do. She shrugs into it, and immediately feels a few degrees warmer, but it’s soft, and loose, and flutters around her legs as she walks to her vanity and looks at herself in the mirror.

It’s a jarring sight.

Like staring at a stranger. This favored dress of her younger self still fits perfectly on her body, but she’s changed. Down to the bones, it feels like she’s changed. She’s older now, her eyes are duller. She has lost all of her hope, and all of her anger, and she feels like she’s playing dress-up, wrapping herself in the trappings of a time no less miserable but so far away. But with her face free of makeup, her hair long and unrestrained for the moment, she thinks she looks younger. Looks more like that young woman she once was than the miserable villain she became. It looks wrong.

But it’s hot, she tells herself, miserably so, and if she has to avoid mirrors all day to keep from feeling out of place in her skin, then so be it.

The warm, damp air has her hair curling, and not in the most attractive of ways, as it dries. Even if it wasn’t making the back if her neck sweat, she’d have to pull it up to keep it neat. The heat is making her lazy and sluggish, so she doesn’t bother for anything fancy, just twists the long strands into neat braids and coils them into a bun, securing them with pins. Much like the dress, the hairstyle is a relic of days gone by, but it’s cool, and it works with the wardrobe, she supposes.

Still, it does not escape her that she’s being watched everywhere she goes.

Double-takes and craned necks follow her down hallways, and she wonders when everyone in this damned realm lost their manners. She tips her chin up just a little higher, tightens her scowl, and tries to look as regal as possible - as much like herself as possible - as she heads for the dining hall.

She chooses a spot alone, at the end of a long table - and away from high-backed chairs at the head table usually reserved for herself and the Charmings. They are, after all, royalty and old habits die hard. But she’s weary of the attention already, and she thinks maybe if she deposits herself here, away from the lofty perch of the head table, she can sneak through a meal unnoticed.

She’s not so lucky.

Regina is hurrying her way through a plate of sliced beef and peas and roasted potatoes, trying to sate her belly and retreat somewhere less visible as soon as possible, when she hears the soft patter of small feet. The boy they’re carrying comes to a skidding stop right next to her, closer than most dare, but that’s typical for this smallest of the Merry Men. He and his father seem to have no compunction when it comes to invading her personal space again and again.

With Roland, though, she can’t say she minds overly much. He reminds her of Henry, in a way that both pains and soothes her, and she cannot turn away those deep, happy dimples he so often graces her with.

She looks to him now, swallowing a mouthful of her lunch hastily as she does, and she finds him staring up at her with wide, brown eyes. He looks awed, marvels at her, and then smiles almost shyly and says, “Majestry, you look  _so_  beautiful.”

The compliment washes over her in a rush, and (much to her dismay) brings a flush of heat to her cheeks. Leave it to a four year old to make The Evil Queen blush from kindness.

She smiles at him, does her best to make it warm and honest, and brushes a hand over his dark hair. “Thank you, sir Roland. You’re quite handsome yourself.”

The boy giggles at her, and those dimples, oh those dimples, they slay her, have her grinning back before she can help it, and then a tall, strong body drops onto the bench just behind where he stands and she’s getting those dimples in duplicate. His father’s are less charming (she tells herself, even though it is not true in the slightest) and more teasing.

“I hardly believed it was you when Roland pointed at the pretty lady in the blue dress and said he wished to bid hello to the Queen,” he says, not bothering for a greeting. He’s drinking her in, though, in a way that makes her feel unsettled. His eyes flit over her face, down her to dress, back up. It’s not a very heated perusal, but Regina feels it on her skin like a caress.

“It’s hot,” she says simply. “Everything else in my wardrobe seemed unbearably heavy.”

Roland clambers into the space between them, half on his father’s lap for lack of room, and Robin nods, says, “Ah,” and then, “Well, you look lovely whatever the reason, milady.”

Before she gets a chance to correct his improper address of her, Roland is swiveling in his father’s lap, scowling, and admonishes, “It’s  _Your Majestry_ , Papa. She’s the  _Queen_.”

Regina can’t help it, she laughs. Full out, and free flowing, easy and pleased. She and Robin have had this exchange about the impropriety of the way he addresses her more than once, and several times in front of Roland. Clearly, the boy has taken to the lesson better than his father, and the fact that she has him so firmly on her side tickles Regina delightfully.

Her humor is short-lived, just a burst of easy mirth before she reigns herself in, and when she does, she finds Robin is looking at her much the way Roland had before - slack-jawed and wide-eyed, and he breathes, “By God, you’re stunning,” and then her laughter fades completely. “Really, incredibly beautiful.”

She’s used to flattery, but not to unguarded compliments, and the one that Robin has just favored her with seems to have come from him unbidden. No intent, not a power play, or a token to earn regal favor. Just an earnest declaration, and the way he’s looking at her… Regina suddenly doesn’t know what to do with her hands, where to look, what to do about the coil of confusion and attraction that curls in her belly.

Well, this is unexpected.

She stares at him, dumbfounded, for a moment, and then he clears his throat and seems to catch himself. Says, “Apologies, Your Majesty, I should keep such thoughts to myself.”

Regina swallows hard, and nods curtly, and turns her attention to the safety of Roland. If her voice shakes slightly when she asks if he’s finding ways to keep cool, she tries very hard not to notice.


End file.
